Hypocrisy
by sayrahh
Summary: He would not become Dominic Cobb, for reality mattered too much.
1. Prologue

_Hello, just a taster to see if anyone would be interested! First real shot at this, do hope it's reasonable! x  
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><p><strong><span>Prologue<span>**

The vow was ingrained with Arthur, its significance sacred and outweighing all other trivial promises created on the grounds of a fleeting observation of fault. No, this pledge had spawned naturally from years of mandatory surveillance on the job. His role required hyperacuity and it would be deceitful to pretend that he had not noticed the steady demise of his partner as the years ticked by.

Although Cobb was evidently the greatest of the team in terms of skill and experience, he lacked the ability of emotional detachment, which had created considerable difficulties when working. Cobb didn't care for specificity, unlike Arthur (who found unambiguity a necessity), thus he allowed the lines between fantasy and reality to become blurred. To Arthur, it signalled the starting signs of weakness – a trait he loathed most.

Therefore, it was only natural that these observations would accumulate to the ultimate oath: he would not become Dominic Cobb, for reality mattered too much.

At least, that's what he had felt before he had been so cruelly engulfed by love and its downfalls.

"I will not become Dominic Cobb," Arthur mumbled, in a slightly bemused tone, whilst connecting himself to the machine. "Don't we all, eventually?"

And with that, he laid himself down on the old, battered reclining chair located within the middle of a derelict warehouse and allowed the sweet darkness to submerge him once more. As his eyes fluttered closed he was welcomed to the land he had created for them, where the air was cleaner and the sky that little bit brighter.


	2. One

_Thank you **SlipIntoADream **for your feedback! I hope you enjoy the update :) - as always, reviews would be appreciated immensely! They do spur on my writing like nothing else (is that shallow? I do hope not!) x  
><em>**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception nor any characters associated.  
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><p><strong> <span>One<span>**

Sleep was an impossibility, at least, naturally. Arthur had tried countless times – from counting sheep into their hundreds of thousands to swallowing sleeping pills until he felt faint, nothing led him to slumber quite like the sedative hooked to the machine. Of course, sleep eventually took hold with regular methods, but absolute control was lost. When sleeping naturally, Arthur was at the mercy of his subconscious - almost as if his body unintentionally knew when complete power was not required, as if his body recognised the difference between work and routine.  
>Lack of control infuriated Arthur, as he was a man characterised by his demand for detail and his love of management. It was predictable that naturally-induced sleep would grow unattractive to Arthur, which allowed him to turn to the only other method he knew. Not only was total rule of his dreams re-established, but he could create and live in a reality he preferred to his own, meaning one perpetually involving Eames.<p>

His love of Eames hadn't occurred miraculously, like the many dog-eared books of Arthur's would have him believe. The growth of his affection toward the Brit hadn't spawned abruptly from nothingness. Its progression was retrospectively beautiful – measured, controlled and expected. If Arthur were to think of it in a metaphorical sense, he'd compare it to the growth of a plant. The seed of admiration had always existed in his mind, and as time progressed he watched it develop into something far more beautiful and valuable – fed daily by the quirks and eccentricities of Eames himself.

"Arthur?" Cobb frowned. "What are you doing here?"

The sound of Dom opening the warehouse door shook Arthur from his thoughts and he stumbled onto his feet gracelessly, eyes wide with alarm.

"C-Cobb," Arthur mumbled hurriedly, as he wildly searched his pockets for the dice. "I was just, um, I arrived early."

He palmed the cubic item fiercely – breathing an inaudible sigh of relief when the object ensured that he was awake.  
>Cobb inspected him inquisitively from the entrance, not yet approaching his Point Man.<p>

"Had a good sleep last night?" Cobb asked curiously, advancing toward the desk directly adjacent to where Arthur stood awkwardly.

"Brilliant," Arthur replied too hastily, "yourself?"

"Likewise," Cobb answered whilst he flicked through the stacks of sheets containing information on the mark. Arthur was sure he identified a hint of irritation in his voice at his lack of elaboration. "So, tell me, do you still sleep?"

"I suppose it depends on how you define sleep," Arthur smirked slightly before he sat next to Cobb on the desk.

Cobb chuckled quietly, not yet looking up from the files. "Right, I see. So, how long do you spend hooked up to that thing a night?" Cobb motioned his head slightly to the partly-opened machine that lay in the middle of the room.

"How did you-" Arthur began, but before he could finish he was shot a knowing look from The Extractor. There was no use for dishonesty. Cobb could read him with ease. "… Eight hours."

"That's four days a night," Cobb stated calmly. "Worse, that's _a month a week._ What are you creating down there that's worth that amount of time?"

Arthur didn't want to recollect those moments in reality, especially not with Cobb – but he couldn't hold the barrier up and the memories fled back, along with the sensations. The delicate finger of a ghost trailed down his right arm, sent platoons of tremors across his body. A hot, trembling British accent whispered sweet nothings against his ear, ran their strong hands across Arthur's chest. His cheeks burnt with desire and embarrassment and he couldn't help but allow a sharp intake of breath escape his lips before he whispered a small apology to an extremely confused Cobb.

"Arthur?" Cobb inquired and his voice rose only slightly, which allowed it to occupy an authoritative tone. "What have you created down there?"

"What's it to you?" Arthur frowned, suddenly irritated by his partner's manner yet his cheeks still flushed from humiliation. He stood from the desk and gesticulated at the still, calm blond. "I know what I'm doing, Dom – unlike you did."

Cobb laughed with genuine amusement, "so did I. I knew it all. Look where that got us."

Arthur grimaced, "we completed the job, regardless of your method of sleep. We managed, Cobb, do you honestly believe that a man you've hired to collect the most intricate details of a mark can't keep track of when he's bloody asleep?"

Cobb finally raised his eyes from the sheets of paper, as if suddenly interested, and looked to Arthur with a hint of bemusement gleaming in his eyes, "'bloody'? Picking up on Eames mannerisms, I see -_ funny_, that. It takes quite a while for sayings like that to really stick."

Arthur felt his body burn with mortification yet managed through gritted teeth, "you're grasping at straws."

"Am I?" Cobb queried, tilting his head slightly. "We could have completed the Fischer job far easier without my subconscious in the way. It'd have been over far quicker had I not confused reality with fantasy. Look, Arthur, I frankly don't care in the slightest, in specific terms, about what you're making down there – as long as it doesn't impact upon the job. All you need to know is that it's not real. Whoever it is that's got the power to keep you under for four days at a time doesn't care in the slightest about you like you want them to, Arthur, and y'know why? Because they aren't really there for you, they are never _there_ for you like you need them to be. You understand? The second you hook yourself up to that machine you're alone."

"Well, thanks for being so sensitive on the issue, Cobb," Arthur muttered sarcastically, as each word hit him like gunfire. "Regardless, it doesn't matter; I'm using the machine for sleep – not for an alternate reality nor to escape something. I'm not lost in my own fantasy, I'm in control."

"That's what we all tell ourselves," Cobb retorted. "'It's just sleep, you're completely in control' - until you fall in love with your own projection - don't even try to argue with me, Arthur, there's obviously _someone_ that's holding you there. Then where do you go? Live in fear every time you open your eyes? Search for your totem anxiously to confirm you're not asleep? Doesn't sound like control to me. In all honesty, it sounds like the dream has gotten the better of you already, Arthur."

"... Do carry on, darlings," sounded a distinct voice from the entrance. "I have all day to waste on petty discussions such as these."

"Eames," Arthur declared, diverting his attention to the figure at the doorway with only a slight hint of alarm tangible in his voice. "Hello."

"Hello, indeed, mister," Eames replied, approaching the two with a self-satisfied smile plastered onto his face. "In trouble again, were we, Arty-boy? Too much drink and drugs? Bringing home too many girls? Breaking the law?"

The sarcasm was thick in Eames' voice and Cobb couldn't help but smirk, "leave the poor boy alone."

Eames patted Arthur's shoulder that little bit too hard and grinned at him, "I'm only kidding, sweetheart, don't get your trousers in a twist."

Arthur knew he should respond with a witty retaliation, hit Eames where he didn't expect it, but instead he merely stood in awe at the Brit – staring intently. Eames' belittlement of him almost went unnoticed – it was a regular practice and Arthur liked to believe it was his own special method of flirting (although that idea only arose after one too many drinks of gin and tonic, otherwise Arthur was convinced the Brit just wasn't very fond of him in reality).

A few seconds in, Arthur knew staring had been a bad idea as suddenly he was captivated by his own thoughts and admiration of The Forger. It was almost hard to believe that the figure directly in front of him wasn't the same Eames he really knew, because their eyes shared the exact same shade of enchanting dark blue and their voices were inflicted with the same charming, soft, velvet tones. Not to mention both were completely irresistible to Arthur.  
>Therefore, it physically pained him to know that the reality of Eames – dressed in that beautifully dreadful attire of his – wasn't the same man that had been with him only a few hours previously, holding him and telling stories of his childhood from the comfort of a park bench, the fresh Spring air whistling past them as they embraced each other in a world of their own.<p>

"Hey, dreamer boy - take a picture," Eames smirked, shaking Arthur from his glazy-eyed, daydreaming state by waving a hand in front of his face obnoxiously. "It'd certainly last longer."

Indeed, it was extremely difficult to believe that the reality of Eames could ever match up to Arthur's vision.  
>For a start, his Eames wouldn't dare use the word 'trousers.'<p> 


End file.
